


Hey what’s up dynamite?

by Spylace



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 00:24:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spylace/pseuds/Spylace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five Superpowers the crew doesn’t have and one that they do</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey what’s up dynamite?

 

 

1

  
Despite all appearances, Hikaru Sulu had always been something of a problem child. His parents used to worry constantly about his grades, his lack of attention and penchant for dreaming. The way his immortal grandmother told him, the only time he would settle down was elbows-deep in dirt, and even then because he was interested in plucking worms and creepy-crawlies from the gardenias.  
  
The doctors diagnosed him with ADHD early on, a common enough problem among children of twenty-third century, nothing to worry about, here take your pills and you’ll be fine. But everything seemed too slow for his liking. Words scrolled past his eyes at a snail’s pace, his teacher’s words a dull drone and the wait in the lunch line too excruciating to bear.  
  
While his friends settled down as they grew older, Hikaru came home with notes and excuses of wilder things: taunting dogs at parks and hijacking hovercrafts, impelling a pack of bullies through the playground and into the busy main road nearly getting themselves all killed.  
  
(Had he lived in Iowa, he would have found a kindred soul in Kirk)  
  
Drugs didn’t help. If anything, it drove his manic episodes into unfound heights. After finding him on top of an orange tree, poised to take a dive, his grandmother forbade him from any more medication. Puberty set in and the problem worsened. Hikaru was irritable with everyone feeling nothing but anger and resentment at the world that seemed to have written him off as a loss.  
  
Driving, aside from gardening, was one of the few pursuits Hikaru could abide by without wanting to bite someone’s face off. It was a rare occasion when he would talk to his parents, mostly his father, about everything from gardening (which his father was deathly allergic to but listened to politely because his mother was the local garden club president) to the newest issue of MAD magazine.  
  
The car came out of nowhere. They might have collided had it not been for Hikaru who threw the car sideways, pulling off a maneuver which would have rattled the teeth off a veteran cab driver. The other car and its terrified driver swerved at the last moment, riding the curb hard before crashing into a barrier.  
  
A safe distance away, Hikaru sat eyes wide as plumes of fire jetted from its engines. His father scrambled to call 911 but did not forget the way his son had fought him off at the last moment, turning left when everyone else would have gone right to avoid the oncoming car. The very next day, Hikaru’s parents took him to an institution to be tested for augmentation.  
  
It was never that he was delayed or mentally inept, only, for him, everything occurred at a much slower pace. He could read a person’s reaction by the jerk of their pulse and twitch of muscle. It was what saved him on the road, he could react having to think, know how to move without being told to. The results showed that Hikaru had a type of super agility and as though putting a name to an unknown face voided it of all mysteries, he burst into tears.  
  
“What will you do now?”  
  
Doors were open to him now and welcoming. Opportunities everyone thought closed to him.  
  
Hikaru thought and thought carefully, reading the faded eyebrows on his mother’s face.  
  
When he smiled, it was dazzling. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll become a poet.”  


 

 

 

2

  
Janice Rand had a gift.  
  
There was no name for it—too weak to be precognition and to consistent for it to be mere coincidence.  
  
She could win every game of chance, regardless of how it was rigged. Many a times, she’d been accused of cheating only to have the losers slink back, unable to touch a single hair on her head because someone had conveniently turned a corner or because one of them tripped over the other in the attempt to claw her eyes out. It didn’t gain her many friends, not even when her parents finally consented to a corrective eye surgery and had her teeth braced with a quick visit at the dentist’s.  
  
Some people feared her, others hated her. There were a few who could have been her friend but she kept herself aloof. Janice Rand had a dream.  
  
It came to her when she happened to stumble upon an evening seminar after auditioning for the role of Sandy for the school’s rendition of Grease. She had no illusions about the play, even by her small town’s low standards. But she was sick of Lucy Washington prancing down the hallway like she was some Hollywood starlet. The expression on the other girl’s face was pure poison when she showed up.  
  
She sat attentive as the recruiter handed out pamphlets and spoke of amazing opportunities in space. That decided it. Starfleet was her ticket to space and exotic planets, a glamorous career where no one would remember four-eyed Janice from No Name, Colorado.  
  
Having no money and even less to say to relations who remained stuck in from of the viewscreen, she backpacked her way through three states, turning down proposals from sleazy men and reporting those who made her gag. The anonymous tips netted the police four rapists and one serial killer during her journey. She felt empowered by the time she set her dirty knapsack on the counter, smiling through the thick cloud of dust that billowed.  
  
“Janice Rand, reporting for duty ma’am.”  


 

 

 

3

  
After Narada, McCoy required several roommates. Several unwanted roommates. There were all sorts, Vulcans, Terrans, Andorians, Capellans, he had no idea there were excess Klingons lying in space, waiting for a chance to rekindle a feud or two.  
  
It wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed, seeing ensigns with their guts hanging out or a yeoman burnt black beyond recognition. When someone put their dismembered hand on his shoulders, he ignored it. At this point, he’d begun to view the body as a mess of parts. He was a doctor; he needed to focus on the living.  
  
By the time he came off a strenuous double-shift, he’d a permanent crease between his eyes and a bottle of real Earth brandy clutched in his hands. Most of his spectral visitors were just confused and needed a little nudge to get out of the way. Others needed written messages, visits to their bereaved friends or family member and in the case of Puri, to collect on a bet.  
  
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”  
  
“I’m serious Len.”  
  
One paltry silver lining was that at least, no one could write him up for insubordination. McCoy slumped in his chair, turned a little by kicking his toes as the ectoplasmic crowd gathered around him, like veil of bubbles only with faces.  
  
“I want that cask of wine. Make sure Pike pours it on my grave.”  
  
“Yeah because that’s a real priority for a man who might never walk again.”  
  
“I have absolute faith in your abilities.” The doctor said loftily, wiping a pearly tear of blood from his brow. “Also, when he makes admiral, he can make other people do it for him.”  
  
By his next shift, he’d taken so many stim shots that he was seeing doubles. Or maybe it was a side-effect of having so many goddamned people crowding his sickbay.  
  
He shooed them away, receiving odd looks when a nurse caught him wiggling his finger at a pocket of air. However, his last spectral visitor was a woman, glowing but unhurt. His face fell, knowing by her aura that it meant she’d died immediately and left no body to find—yet another casualty of the Vulcan genocide.  
  
“You know me.” Amanda Grayson said in mild surprise.  
  
“I’m a doctor ma’am.” McCoy said frankly, wracking his mind for some sort of consolation and finding none. He was a doctor dammit. “He looks like you, other than the obvious lack of pointy ears, no offence.”  
  
“None at all.” Amanda smiled warmly, giving off a pleased glow. She explored the office, poking the obsessive bobble head collection with an inquisitive look.  
  
“Err... those aren’t mine.”  
  
He frowned, seeing that they were the only ones there. That was odd. Normally, a second didn’t go by without being besieged by someone desperate to impart some useless trivia for him to mull over.  
  
“It looks like you’re the last one tonight, what can I do for you?”  
  
“I’d like for you to pass on a message to my son.”  
  
“Of course.” He said immediately, a PADD in hand.  
  
“Personally.” She clarified.  
  
His eyebrows rose.  
  
  
Catching Commander Spock off duty was like wrangling a wild horse—you didn’t go to them, they came to you. Still, McCoy had been taught early on that patience was an unfortunate virtue and with Amanda Grayson singing like a canary all of the commander’s childhood secrets he felt confident that he was in the advantage. If Spock had been a horse, his eyes would have been rolling with ill-disguised panic, exhausted with the chase and on the verge of lashing out with a nerve pinch or two. But since the man was a Vulcan, he looked immaculate as always, hands clasped behind his back as though waiting for the inevitable.  
  
Instantly, McCoy went apoplectic.  
  
“Dammit man! We’re going to be stuck together until we get to Earth! Do I have to chase you down like a damned child every time I want to talk?!”  
  
“Considering our past confrontations, I calculate the likeliness of our social engagements negligible.”  
  
“This is personal.” He said huffily.  
  
“If you wish to discuss my decision regarding stranding of Acting Captain Kirk on Delta Vega...”  
  
“It’s about you.” McCoy struggled to bring up the subject. “Commander, when was the last time you’ve slept?”  
  
Spock didn’t bat an eye.  
  
“Vulcans need significantly less sleep in order to function...”  
  
“Don’t give me that.” McCoy snapped. “I’m a doctor. That means I own you outside command decisions.” Distantly, he foresaw his stunted career as a CMO coming to an end. He tried to calm himself, for the sake of Amanda Grayson if anything else. “Look” he sighed. “Your mother wants you to know that she loves you and that she’s proud of you and she just wants to see you happy.”  
  
Spock stiffened. Unabashed, McCoy stood his ground.  
  
“This is highly unprofessional of you Dr. McCoy, even by your noncompliant standards.” The Vulcan’s tone was low and scathing.  
  
“Dammit man, I’m just the messenger!” But already, Spock was turning away. “Wait!” He grabbed a shoulder and counted his blessings that he wasn’t already on the wrong side of a fist. “Meld with me.” He stammered, spurred on by the half-hopeful, disappointed expression tugging on Amanda’s face. “Meld with me to see if I’m lying.” McCoy touched Spock’s wrist, despite the latter’s look of obvious distaste.  
  
In an instant, the Vulcan blinked as the room reappeared along with the hazy form of his mother who was smiling at him with damp eyes.  
  
“You!” McCoy spat, not caring that he was being rude or for all purposes, talking to thin air. “Why are you still here?”  
  
Amanda Grayson smiled at him serenely. “It has always been my wish to see my son wed...”  
  
McCoy looked from Spock to Amanda then let go of the commander’s hand as though it was something diseased.  
  
“I’m a doctor! Not a miracle worker!”  


 

 

 

4

  
As the Enterprise limped her way back to Earth, Scotty took time off from the engine room to walk down the cracked halls, running a hand down the steel railings which bore no signs of the ship’s suffering. But the Enterprise knew and groaned in concordance with his touch, plaintive and warm like a fevered child.  
  
She only began to speak to him after hours of coaxing, the halted speech of a hurt creature with a million and one problems aboard. The Enterprise emptied of her warp core was a sad lady, sailing on nothing but propulsion engines and hopes of rescue. Scotty echoed her pain as she marched the uncertain space, cognizant that if an attack came, she would be caught unawares and destroyed.  
  
But as young as she was, Enterprise was a born fighter, as careful as a mother cat with her litter as they navigated the asteroid fields, dead to the sensors. Later, Scotty would send Sulu a bottle of wine as thanks to his piloting skills, but for now, he leaned against a viewing area, his fingers shaking as they spread across the enforced glass.  
  
He felt as she felt, the blare of alarm as her nerve center was assaulted with warnings upon warnings of blown circuitry to the breaks in the hull, sealed hastily with plaster that would only last as fickle luck would. The sickbay was the worst, the site of a direct attack and the greatest amount of deaths. She mourned them, even though they would never have had much to do with her, the tiny little medical officers in what was supposed to be the most impregnable area of her frame.  
  
Scotty chewed the inside of his mouth to shreds, palms remaining pressed to the trembling hull, barely perceptible but there to be felt trapped in the marrow of his bones. Of all the technological marvels that he’d seen, touched or created, she was the greatest. He promised the glorious ship that everything would be rebuilt, she would be rebuilt, with all the shields and weaponry befitting a warrior queen.  
  
And as she calmed, her fragmented skin closing as though healing of their own accord, he untangled his thoughts from the ships sensors and drew back into himself like sliding a memory wafer from the drives. He blinked blearily at the scattering of bright glitter at the edge of his vision. The light might have dimmed considerately just a tad.  
  
He shook his head.  
  
He had work to do.  


 

 

 

5

  
Growing up, Uhura had been taught to use her words and not her fists no matter how tempting it might have been when her brothers teased her for being a girl or when Kevin Tran pulled at her very literal pigtails. “Use your words Nyota.” Her father reprimanded her when she bloodied the boy’s nose. “They’re just trying to get to you. It’s better to ignore them.”  
  
“Then what good is having powers?” Nyota implored, petulant as her brothers snickered and made faces behind their father’s back. Not a day went by when the three weren’t breaking one thing or another, stomping like miniature elephants as they ran through the house.  
  
Her father thought for a moment, swatting her eldest brother on the back of his head when he was caught with his tongue sticking out. “Remember Princess Bela?”  
  
Nyota immediately scowled. What a terrible story that had been. Why, if she had been a princess with magical powers, she would have rescued herself instead of waiting three tedious years for her prince to follow snippets of her golden hair.  
  
“Well think of it this way.” Her father said reasonably. “If the pirates didn’t know she could use magic, they wouldn’t have kidnapped her now would they?”  
  
Nyota frowned.  
  
“I guess so.” She admitted reluctantly. “But it’s still stupid.”  
  
Her father chuckled and swung her into her arms. Nyota squealed and kicked, getting a solid ‘oomph’ and a wet smooch on her forehead for her troubles. “Tell you what my darling, if you ever encounter a problem you can’t solve with words, you can use your powers.”  
  
“Promise?”  
  
He stuck out a pinky and hooked it in with hers.  
  
“Pinky swear.”  
  
  
Enterprise took an unauthorized detour from their course to New Vulcan at the captain’s insistence. Jim Kirk sat with his jaws tight, denying all hails from Stafleet as the ship sped along at maximum warp. Spock too avoided her questioning looks and had been for the past few days. Had he not been Vulcan, she might have even called him anxious or moody. The secret he divulged as they orbited the newly inhabited planet shook her to her core.  
  
Her palms sang as his head turned with a quick snap.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
Spock looked anguished and she fought the urge to reach out, brush their fingers together as though making a promise. He gave her an answer bloated with technical jargon, endearing at times but maddening when all she wanted was for him to say—I’m sorry, I love you, I can fix this. But he was a Vulcan and it was not in their nature to act in such an illogical manner. Spock was all but married in the eyes of the Federation, what more could be said?  
  
“Uhura!”  
  
She broke out of his grip, the first time she’s had to use her formidable strength on the ship. She stared up at him, feeling oddly betrayed. Turning around, she fled.  
  
  
New Vulcan was arid as the first but blue as though in recompense for its parched surface. The Vulcan delegation was already waiting, T’Pau at the foremost and the remaining Vulcan elders after in a sedate pace that made her grit her teeth. T’Pring, Spock’s fiancé and the other woman in their relationship, held her head high, draped in a gauzy silver material. Spock looked a little green at her appearance but that might have been wishful thinking.  
  
Beside her, McCoy began to mutter under his breath. She had no doubt that everyone could hear the doctor’s uncharitable thoughts on Vulcan tradition but they ignored it the way Spock couldn’t. Uhura flashed a brief smile at him, grateful for his unwavering support.  
  
As they came together, the pit inside her throat grew until big enough to be a small tree. She’d always loved Spock’s fingers, long and elegant. She couldn’t bear the thought of them touching hers. Words, words, words, what good were they to her now? What good was strength of ten men when she had no right to her beloved?  
  
Kal-if-fee*—a light shone through the recess of her mind.  
  
Before anyone could stop her, she was standing beside Spock, a determined look on her face.  
  
“I challenge thee.” She said evenly in Vulcan.  
  
T’Pring scoffed in a purely Vulcan manner. “But you are human.” She reasoned. “Spock and I have been promised to each other since we were children.”  
  
“I challenge thee.” She repeated in the same measured tones.  
  
T’Pring looked uncertain.  
  
“Challenge has been issued and accepted.” Someone spoke up. It was Sarek.  
  
“You are human.” The Vulcan woman pointed out suspiciously. “There is less than 0.021% chance you will emerge victorious.”  
  
She nodded. “Then so be it.”  
  
Everyone was gaping at her now, except the Vulcans, who didn’t, and McCoy who knew. He grinned at her, mouth splitting in an unsubtle glee.  
  
“Nyota.”  
  
“Spock”  
  
It was the first time they’d spoken to each other since the confrontation on the ship. She attempted levity. “Wish me luck.”  
  
“There is no need.” He said gently, dark eyes warm. “Nevertheless, I shall endeavor to do so.”  
  
  
T’Pring stood stunned as the lirpa bent under her grip, the staff weapon little more than a stick in her hands. Uhura tossed the weapon away after this obvious display, burying it deep in the shimmering sands. Barehanded, she straightened with a small huff, tucking the loose hairs behind her ear. “Now, shall we begin?”  


 

 

 

+1

  
“I leave you people for five minutes and find myself in the middle of a goddamned apocalypse!”  
  
McCoy ambushed the Klingon mercenary and shoved a hypo in his neck. It was his industrial-sized hypospray, reserved exclusively for ‘certain officers who knew better but did it anyway’.  
  
Kirk slapped a palm against the side of his neck and winced in reflexive sympathy. He was heartened to see however, that he was not the only one.  
  
In the background of the disorganized sickbay, Chapel could be seen reloading her tranquilizer gun. M’Benga had somehow gotten hold of a phaser and stunning their intruders left and right.  
  
Kirk watched somewhat guiltily as McCoy punched the comm line to the bridge, looking haggard and worn after being prematurely woken from his well-deserved nap. The CMO reported, “Sickbay, clear! Also, the monthly physicals are due. I expect y’all to be here starting at 0500 today or else. McCoy out.”  
  
Scotty’s face was next on the viewscreen, his eyes bugging out in the magnified view. He was surrounded by steam and it was hard to see at the odd angle of the camera where it was all coming from. But the silhouettes of the two ensigns behind him were avidly discussing where to stack their latest bodies so it looked like everything was situation normal.  
  
“Engineering is clear Captain.”  
  
In the cafeteria, Yeoman Rand looked serene, the smear of mustard on her brow like some exotic war paint. A replicated hotdog flew through the air. Jim hadn’t thought the food was that bad but apparently, it was bad enough to qualify as lethal weapon.  
  
“Mess hall, clear.”  
  
Smug, Kirk swiveled in his chair. Uhura arched an eyebrow at his childish antics while Spock stood poised, a distinct air of superiority about his person. Sweetly, he said to the flabbergasted Klingon on the screen, “You were saying?”

**Author's Note:**

> *I don’t know if Kal-if-fee is limited only to rejecting male suitors but I’ve applied it here. If anyone knows, please tell me.  
> **In case you were wondering, the crew of Enterprise has the following abilities. But not really because I haven't figured out if these powers really have their own names:  
> Sulu - Super agility/reflex  
> Rand - ESP/hyper intuition/luck/premonition  
> McCoy - Haley Joel syndrome  
> Scotty - Technopath  
> Uhura - Super strength


End file.
